Deal Without You
by Mango Marbles
Summary: Alternate ending to 12x09, First Blood. The Winchesters are always willing to die for each other, but what options do they have left to bring the dead back to the living?
1. The Price

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Supernatural.

* * *

He was covered in sweat and dirt (and a little bit of blood). Hell, they both were, and it felt disgusting. He could go for a couple hours straight under the spray of a shower with the glorious invention that was soap, but it was still better than being locked in a government prison for almost committing a crime that they didn't almost commit.

Midnight was coming soon, and he knew what that meant. It'd be time for him and Sam to say goodbye, and there was no way in Hell that he'd let Sam be the one to die. It was Dean's idea, so he figured it made sense for him to deal with the price.

Not that he had any delusions that Sam wouldn't do his best to offer himself up over Dean. They'd done this dance a hundred times, and it always ended with the world landing right in the middle of another supernatural crisis.

But hey, at least they managed to always return to being alive and fighting the good fight, so why should this time be any different? In The Empty or not, if anyone could find a way to get a soul out of there and back to Earth, it'd be Sam.

They stopped the car on a bridge just before midnight, as the signs of Billie's presence started. The lights flickered in the same way they would with a demon nearby, and maybe Billie was a demon in her own right. Making deals and taking souls. Wanting to see the Winchesters removed from the land of the living permanently.

He got out with Sam, Cas and Mary followed in confusion. They'd opted to not tell them the plan, Cas and Mary would have spent the final car ride with all of them together despairing and looking for a way to break the deal or find a loophole. It would be the same way Sam acted during the year before Dean went to Hell, and Dean wasn't sure he could deal with that again. It was exhausting trying to hold someone together when he was the reason they were falling apart.

There was a lot that he would regret, like not being able to see what the final plan was for the British Men of Letters. He didn't trust that they were being honest, but he _did_ trust that Sam could handle it along with Mary and Cas, now that it looked like Mary was coming back.

He'd never get to really know her. But he'd gotten four years with her, so Sam deserved to have his turn to experience having a mother.

Billie was as enthusiastic as ever to be present with the purpose of reaping a Winchester once and for all, and the shock and disbelief on Mary and Cas' faces hurt to see as much as he knew it would.

Dean explained their escape, and how they needed Billie.

And Mary did the last thing he expected.

She pulled out her gun, cocked it, and pressed the barrel to her head. "I'm a Winchester," she said. "Take me."

"Works for me," Billie said.

Dean stepped forward, but he was thrown back.

Sam landed beside him.

He had to stop his mom, but getting up was a struggle. Billie hadn't just thrown them, she made it feel like they were weighed down, too. Every motion took more effort than it should.

"I love you," Mary said, her voice strained.

Dean couldn't see her face, but he didn't need to. He knew that she was close to tears, if a few hadn't spilled over already. He knew that tone of voice, because it was the same one that Sam used at his most upset ever since he was a child.

He remembered that Sam babbled to him once about how 'seeing everything in slow motion' wasn't just a saying. When the brain was under a great amount of stress and receiving too much information to process, it perceived events as happening slower. Part of evolution, or something.

Dean just nodded and didn't give it much thought, but now he experienced the phenomenon for the first time.

Sam surged forward right as Mary was about to pull the trigger and grabbed her arm so the gun no longer pointed at her, but her surprise made her fire it regardless.

Dean barely saw Billie's smile fade as Cas' angel blade protruded from her chest with a dull, blue glow, not with his mom and brother nearly blocking the path. But it was hard to focus on that small victory when Sam was falling backwards.

Dean got up and had his hands on Sam's shoulders, anything to slow his descent, but Sam was dead weight and they both ended up back on the ground.

"Sam?" Dean asked.

Mary fell to her knees next to them, and Cas followed, but Dean was focused on the blood pouring down Sam's neck.

Dean pressed his shaking fingers to Sam's pulse, but couldn't find one.

Sam had stopped their mother from shooting herself, but when he grabbed her arm, the angle of the gun made the barrel point straight up at Sam. Mary's shot in surprise sent a bullet into Sam's head from right under his chin.

If they took him to a hospital, it'd look like just another suicide.

In a way, maybe it was. The night was supposed to end with one of them committing suicide anyway, even if it wasn't in the traditional sense.

The problem was that it should have been Dean.

"Cas, fix him," Dean said.

He saw his own tears falling onto Sam, but he didn't feel them at all. He didn't feel anything at all.

"Dean, I can't," Cas said. "I'm sorry, but he's already gone."

"No, he can't be," Dean said. "He isn't in The Empty. Billie is dead, she didn't take him there."

"He might not be in The Empty, but his soul is no longer in his body. There's nothing I can do."

"No, no, no, no, no," Dean said. "You brought me back once. You brought Bobby back once. Now, bring Sam back. Please, Cas. I'm begging you, man."

"Dean, I don't have the power to do that anymore. I would if I could. I swear I would."

"I'm so sorry," Mary said. Her words were soft whispers that broke through quiet sobs. "I shouldn't have… I should've… I'm sorry."

"Mom, don't," Dean said. "We knew that this night would end with one of us dead. The was part of the entire plan. I just… It was supposed to be me."

He chuckled, but it sounded so choked and distorted that he almost didn't recognize it as his own. "But I should have known better. Sam's always been a self-sacrificing idiot," Dean said. "It was always my job to look out for him, but I never could. Now, we're running out of favors and options, and this might really be it."

Dean finally looked up at Cas and Mary. Mary's face was a blotchy red and tears streamed down. Cas looked sad in his own right, and Dean wondered if angels could cry at all.

"What if this really is the last time?" he asked. "What if Sam can't come back again?"

They didn't answer him.

* * *

Cas helped him get Sam into the car, and he started the drive back to the bunker with Mary in the passenger seat.

Dean sat in the back with Sam's body, and he tried to fool himself into believing it was just another trip home after a tough hunt where Sam fell asleep in the car.

But no soft breaths escaped his mouth this time. He didn't shift or mumble in his sleep. He was too still. Too peaceful.

Because he wasn't there. Not really. What made Sam into _Sam_ was gone, and Dean wasn't sure that he could find a way to get it back this time.

"We'll figure it out, Dean," Cas said. "We always have before."

But this wasn't like the times before. He didn't know how to fix this, or where to start. Billie was dead, and wouldn't have dealt with him anyway. He was pretty sure that no demon would let him trade his soul for Sam again. Cas no longer had the power to resurrect. Chuck and Amara were off on their vacation and probably had their versions of Angel Radio turned off.

What options did he have left?

All he could do was whisper apologies that would never reach Sam's ears.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** I felt like their escape was way too easy and clean. The episode needed some more drama, so I've decided to write my own version of it. This will be a very short story, but I will leave no story unfinished. That, I can promise (with the exception of a sudden, horrible death or accident).

Please review and let me know if you enjoyed the start!


	2. Attached

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Supernatural.

* * *

Sam came to in the bunker, feeling lighter than he had in a long time. He found himself standing in Dean's room, and his most recent memories definitely didn't end with him being in the bunker at all.

He should be on a bridge with Dean, Mary, and Cas. He remembered that much. They were waiting for Billie to come collect the price on the deal they made with her, and Sam was going to insist on being the one to die. Dean sacrificed himself for Sam too many times, so Sam figured it was his turn to repay the favor.

The rest of his memories come back slowly.

Mary pulled out her gun, she was going to be the Winchester to pay the price. She wanted Billie to take her, and Billie wanted to let her be taken. Sam broke out of whatever it was that Billie used to keep him and Dean away, grabbed Mary's gun, and pulled it away from her head, but she fired it anyway. Right into _his_ head. The pain blinded him for only a few seconds before it was over.

And now here he was standing around Dean's room. He swiped his hand at Dean's nightstand, not overly surprised that it passed right through like nothing was there at all.

He was dead, but he wasn't in The Empty. He tried to leave Dean's room, but he couldn't move past the doorway. Every time he tried, an invisible wall blocked him.

So, he paced the length of Dean's room over and over. He had experience being a ghost when they prevented the seal that involved killing two reapers from being broken, but that was so long ago that Sam couldn't interact with anything the way he learned to back then. Not without practicing again.

It seemed that, with the lack of any reapers coming for him, he had plenty of time to relearn. Maybe, if he let Dean know he was still hanging around, they could figure out a way to free him from The Veil.

He heard the heavy slam of the bunker door, followed by footsteps down the stairs and through the halls. They sounded more unsteady than normal, and Sam knew that there had to be more than one person given just how many steps he heard.

If it was Dean with both Cas and Mary with him, then Sam was grateful that they were sticking together at least. He was glad that Dean wouldn't be alone.

He could peek his head out of the doorway, as long as most of his body stayed in the room. He saw Dean's back and he saw Cas. Then, they came closer, and he saw himself being carried. Dean had his arms hooked under Sam's arms, while Cas gripped his legs. Their struggle explained the unsteady footsteps, and Sam watched his own head lifelessly roll from side to side as they moved him into his room.

The last time he was a ghost looking at his own body, he hadn't really died. Pamela gave her life so that they could slip into The Veil to save a single seal.

In the end, Sam figured it hadn't really been worth it. They saved one seal, but it didn't matter. The angels made sure the Apocalypse happened despite his and Dean's efforts to stop it.

"Dean!" Sam yelled as they disappeared behind the door to his room. "Dean, I'm right here! Cas, please tell me you can hear me!"

Cas stepped out of his room a minute later, but Dean didn't follow and the door shut between them.

Sam could just barely hear Dean yell something. Cas didn't reply, he simply started walking over to Dean's room.

Sam saw Mary come into the hall with a steaming mug and knock on his door. He couldn't hear what she said, or if Dean replied, but he was glad that they'd still have each other with him gone.

Cas stepped into Dean's room and looked directly at him. "Sam," he said in a breathless way, like he couldn't believe what he saw.

"Cas, what the hell is going on?" Sam asked. "I saw you guys haul in my body, so I should be in The Empty."

"Billie was your reaper," Cas said.

"Yeah, I kinda know that part already, Cas."

"I killed her. Just after you died, I killed her. I should have done it sooner, before Mary took out her gun. Sam, I'm sorry."

Sam shook his head with a small smile. "Dean and I knew that one of us would be dead at midnight," Sam said. "But if Billie died, why did I end up here?"

"You were assigned Billie, and she died after you were already dead."

"So, now I'm stuck," Sam said.

Sam thought back to Bobby, something he hadn't done in quite a long time. When Bobby dodged his reaper, he ended up attached to the flask that Dean kept and had to stay near it.

"Sam, I'm going to fix this," Cas said. The shift of his expressions was still nearly nonexistent, but Sam learned to read them through the years. He had a determination that Sam hadn't seen in years, not since he did all he could to keep Raphael from opening Purgatory. "I'm going to do whatever it takes to help you, Sam."

Cas left the room and walked down the hall with large, quick steps.

Sam stuck his head into the hallway and yelled, "At least tell Dean that I'm still here, Cas! Cas!"

Cas rounded the corner, either not hearing Sam or ignoring him.

Sam tried to take a deep breath, and the lack of air filling his lungs finalized the realization that he was no longer alive. He wanted Billie to take him as the price, but he assumed that The Empty would be his final stop. He hoped that it would be a place where he forgot all of the things he left behind in life.

Instead, he was trapped in Dean's room with his family thinking he was beyond their reach, Cas on a mission to help (which, knowing Cas, could easily go too far), and with no idea what it was that he ended up attached to.

He looked through Dean's room. After spending their entire lives crammed in motel rooms without privacy, he figured that snooping wasn't such a big deal. Besides, he was dead. Did the normal rules of society apply to him?

Had they ever?

But once they moved into the bunker, their individual rooms became a little sanctuary for each of them. Something they could finally call their own. Violating that sanctuary was wrong, but this was a desperate time. His internal war over if he was doing something wrong or not kept raging as he tried to figure out what Dean had that Sam would be attached to.

Dean kept an array of weapons in his room, and Sam dismissed that any of them would potentially be what he was attached to. They were purely _Dean's_ weapons, and Sam held no connection to them in life whatsoever.

He set up a few pictures around his room, the old ones they got from Jenny a long, long time ago. When Sam's premonitions were just starting and their biggest concern was finding their dad. Seeing them as a family in the pictures left him wondering if John would be resurrected one day. If Mary was, why wouldn't John be, too?

He dismissed the pictures. Most of them were from when he was an infant, and they held more importance to Dean than they did to him.

Sam paced again. Not being able to interact with objects made searching that much more difficult, and he wasn't expecting Dean to come into his own room anytime soon so he could try giving some sort of signal to show he was still hanging around.

When he closed his eyes and concentrated, he could almost feel the connection that kept him there. An invisible pull. An invisible leash that wouldn't let him stray too far. At least, not yet.

He opened his eyes again, trying to keep drawing on that feeling of being bound, and his focus was drawn to a wooden box sitting next to a lamp that had pictures leaning on its base.

He put his hand on the box, or tried to. The first time, his hand slipped right through it.

So he tried again.

And again.

He kept trying until he was so frustrated and angry that he couldn't only grip the box, but he could also throw it across the room.

It crashed to the ground, broken and its contents spilled across the floor.

Dean must have heard the crash, because he came running into his room, gun drawn. Their mother trailed behind him, her own gun in hand and looking lethal despite the red eyes and puffy cheeks.

Then Dean looked at the shattered box on the floor, and he and Sam both stared at the same thing laying near it.

Dean's amulet.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** We've seen Dean's view, so here's Sam. A little less emotional, but he's not the one thinking his brother is dead forever. For those of you who also follow Becoming Human, I hope to have the next chapter posted later today or tomorrow.

Leave a review before you go?


	3. The Amulet

**Disclaimer:** ****I don't own Supernatural.

* * *

 _Dean stood in the motel's doorway, pausing before he left the room. He raised his right arm so slowly over the small trashcan, and his amulet dangled down from his hand._

 _It landed with a quiet clang, and Dean left without looking back._

 _Sam froze for a minute before his brain started functioning properly again. He fell to his knees in front of the trashcan and picked the amulet out, shoving it into his pocket._

 _He knew Dean was mad at him, mad at the memories of his that showed up in their shared Heaven, but he'd want the amulet back one day, right?_

 _Sam would hold onto it until then. Just in case._

 _Just in case._

Sam watched Dean fall to his knees in front of the amulet like Sam had so many years ago. He wondered where it went after Dean took it out of his pocket when it started glowing in Chuck's presence.

He never it saw it after that, and never asked. But he wouldn't deny that he kept hoping it'd reappear around Dean's neck one day. A sign that he'd finally, finally been fully forgiven.

Dean looked around the room, putting his gun aside. He looked at the spot where Sam stood, and paused for a second. Sam almost believed that Dean saw him, but there was no indication beyond that that he might.

Mary knelt beside Dean and looked at the amulet as well. "What is it, Dean?" she asked.

Dean picked up the amulet and stared at it. "I think it's Sam," Dean said. "I think he's still here, and he's trying to get our attention."

"What does that have to do with it?" Mary asked, waving her hand at the amulet.

"Sammy gave this to me when he was eight," Dean said. "It was Christmas. Dad wasn't going to be back, and we both knew it, so Sam gave it to me instead."

Dean laughed a bit, but it sounded bitter and sad, and shook his head. "I wore it for years, and just never took it off."

"What made you finally take it off?" Mary asked.

Sam could tell she had more questions in the way she looked at the amulet. She probably wondered why John wasn't there for Christmas, or how Sam got the amulet to give Dean in the first place.

"I threw it away. Right in front of Sam, and I didn't even look back," Dean said.

"Why would you do that?"

Dean shrugged. "I was just so angry at the time, and the angels trying to make us hate each other didn't help. But I regretted it a lot. You can't imagine how much I regretted it in the years after."

Sam knelt beside them and tried to grab the amulet. His hand passed through it, but it swayed a bit and felt electric. He laughed a bit. Of course, that's what he would end up attached to.

"Sammy?" Dean asked. He glanced around the room again. "You still hanging around here?"

"I'm here," Sam said. He reached out and wrapped his hand around the amulet. Not far enough to completely pass through, but enough that the amulet started swaying.

"Did that just move?" Mary asked.

"Yeah." Dean cleared his throat. "Yeah, it did. Damn, it's good to hear from you, Sammy. I thought, well, you probably know what I thought."

Dean grinned and huffed out a short, choked laugh.

"Dean, he's a ghost," Mary said. "He's a ghost who just threw a wooden box across the room and shattered it."

"I'm gonna fix this, Mom," Dean said. He slipped the amulet over his head, and the little charm came to rest over his heart, the very place where it spent years before angels and the Heaven and Hell showdown.

Dean wasn't facing Mary, so he didn't see her watching him with wide eyes before they narrowed and her face shifted into that of a determined hunter. It was the same face Sam saw time and time again. On his dad. Dean. Other hunters they crossed paths with on cases. Hell, he saw it on himself in the mirror sometimes, when Dean was in Hell or when Dean had The Mark on his arm and was slowly deteriorating under its influence.

"Then, why are you putting it on?" she asked.

"I gotta keep it safe."

"Dean, Sam's a ghost," Mary said, carefully enunciating each syllable and speaking slowly.

"I know, Mom," Dean said. "I'm going to fix that."

"But you're putting that amulet on," she said again.

Dean turned to face her, then. Sam saw the pieces fall into place for him, the same pieces Sam gathered from watching Mary while Dean's back was towards her.

"Yeah, I am," he said. "Because if Sam's attached to anything, it's this, and we're going to bring him back."

Mary put her hand on Dean's shoulder. "Just give it to me, Dean," she said. "I'll take care of it."

Dean pulled away from her touch. "No! You're not touching it," he said.

"He threw a wooden box, doesn't that scream to you that he might be on his way to becoming vengeful?" she asked. "I salted and burned my own parents. I did what I had to do, and if you can't do this, then I will do what's needed again. It's what's best for Sam."

Sam wished that he wasn't attached to anything. That he could leave and not have to listen to his mother's words or his brother's defenses against them. Even in death, he was tearing apart his family.

"You don't know what's best for Sam," Dean said. He had his hand wrapped around the amulet, like he was keeping it from her. It was the only way for him to protect Sam now. "You don't even know Sam."

"Dean…"

Whatever Mary wanted to say, Sam didn't find out. Dean pushed past her and out of his room, weaving through the labyrinth of the bunker's halls.

Sam trailed after him, pulled by an unrelenting invisible force. With each step, everything was drained of a bit more color. Muted and foreign. He wondered if that was normal for being a ghost, or if his mom was right and he was on his way to being vengeful. He still felt traces of the rage and frustration that allowed him to pick up the wooden box in the first place and throw it.

Dean called Cas several times, but they all went to voicemail, where Dean left threatening messages. He finally settled himself in one of the storage rooms, digging through the mess of papers, books, and strange objects kept in it.

"Don't worry, Sammy," Dean said. "I'm not gonna let anything happen to you. There's gotta be something here that we can use to get you all sorted out. What good are the Men of Letters if they can't get a ghost back in his body, right?"

"Dean," Sam said, like he would be heard.

Dean didn't stop or hesitate, he simply kept leafing through each shelf's contents, and moved on to the next one with a little more desperation when he found nothing useful on the previous one.

Sam saw the tears rimming Dean's eyes as he moved through more and more shelves. His hands started shaking and he nearly dropped most of the things he picked up.

Normally, the storage rooms had a musty smell to them. One comprised of old books, rotting wood, and candle wax burnt decades ago. But Sam didn't smell any of that. He didn't smell anything, or feel anything.

He watched Dean feel too much, and he was left to feel nothing. It wasn't fair.

It wasn't _fair._

He was promised The Empty. He was promised the closest thing he would get to peace, not the torture of being trapped in The Veil.

An entire shelf fell out of one of the cabinets before he realized he'd done anything at all.

Dean stopped and stared at the mess now covering the floor.

"Sammy?" he asked. "C'mon, man. You gotta hold it together long enough for me to figure this out, okay? Get a handle on whatever it is you're losing here. It's not easy. I know. I get that. But you have to believe that I'm going to save you. Please, believe that. We can deal with everything else when you're breathing again."

Sam wanted to believe that, he really did, but it felt like he was always losing pieces of himself. Ever since the moment he appeared in Dean's room and far away from his own body, pieces of him started drifting away. Every step, every motion, every word. All of it took shed another piece away.

He wondered how long it would be before it was all gone. Before there was nothing left of him.

Dean started mumbling out reassurances and promises as he worked, sounding more like he was soothing six-year-old-Sam after a nightmare than talking to ghost-Sam, but maybe that wasn't far from the truth. Being a ghost was turning out to be a nightmare, after all.

So, he sat in the corner of the storage room, careful to not touch anything and keep his emotions as in check as he could. He felt as vulnerable as his child self after a nightmare, when all that kept him grounded was Dean's presence. Now, all that was keeping him here was an amulet hanging around Dean's neck.

As was the story of his life, his fate was completely in Dean's hands.

The amulet swung as Dean moved around the room. It looked the same around his neck as it always had, but it no longer meant the same thing. It didn't stand for Sam's trust and belief in Dean over their father. It didn't stand for their bond.

It was just the best way available to Dean for protecting Sam.

And Sam needed to find a way to tell Dean that it would be better for all of them if he salted and burned the amulet. If he ended all of this before it turned sour, but he had a feeling it already was.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** For a Mary who wants to save her son without it ending in his death, check out Sons of the Morning. Here, she's a little more detached and letting her hunter side take over and, unfortunately, Sam and Dean are still practically strangers to her.

Please take a second to leave a review!


	4. Let Go

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Supernatural.

* * *

Ghosts. Fucking ghosts. They'd been a constant in his life since he was four years old and his mother haunted his father enough to turn him into a hunter, even before any of them knew that Mary _did_ linger as a ghost in their old house for over twenty years (not that she remembered a single moment of it, or remembered saving them from a poltergeist as a ghost).

But now his mother was alive, and it was his brother who haunted him. He hated himself for it, but he found himself thinking that he'd trade his mother for Sam when he looked at her. He knew how to live without her, but he never learned to live without Sam. Never thought he'd have to.

Besides, that gun had not been meant for Sam. He should have been safe, next to Dean and tethered by whatever Billie used to toss them away from Mary. But leave it to Sam to be able to resist the powers of something supernatural.

Dean dialed Cas' number again, just for it to go to voicemail. Again.

"Cas, I don't know what you're doing, but I could really freaking use your help here," he said.

It took all of his willpower to not throw his phone against the wall, or break it in two like he did to the vet's phone who fixed Sam's leg, no questions asked, for Toni.

He last saw Cas the night they carried Sam's body into the bunker. Wherever he was now, he was about as likely to listen to Dean's voicemails as he was to listen to Dean's prayers.

"Don't take it personally, Sammy," Dean said. "Cas always does this, doesn't he? Just disappears and does his own thing."

He didn't get a response, but he knew that Sam heard him. As long as he wore his amulet, Sam was stuck with him.

"We're gonna figure this out. We always do, right?"

Sam hadn't done anything to signal he was there at all since he destroyed one of the storage rooms. And Dean knew that was bad. Sam having enough energy and anger to throw things across the room meant he was that much closer to going full vengeful spirit. On the other hand, no signs of Sam meant that he wasn't particularly angry at the moment. If he could just stay calm long enough for Dean to figure it out.

Getting Sam back into his body was a race against time, but Dean had no idea how long he had to work with and there was a certain amount of despair that accompanied each storage room he emptied without coming closer to an answer.

He cracked open the door to Sam's room. He shouldn't do this to himself, but he couldn't stop himself either.

With Sam laying on his bed, the blood wiped away from his skin, he looked like he was sleeping.

Dean stepped in and closed the door behind him, finding himself back in Cold Oak and staring at his brother laying on a filthy mattress. Then and now, he felt like a failure. After all the time his father spent drilling into his head that he had to watch out for Sammy, he always did a shit job of it.

"You love making my job hard, don't you?" he asked.

He should get some air fresheners for the room, he thought. Or maybe scented candles (Sam would love those). Either way, he shouldn't have to wake up in a room reeking of death.

Dean held his head in his hands. This was all wrong. Cas killed Billie, but he did it both a moment too late and right on time. Sam wasn't thrown into The Empty, but Mary hadn't put her gun down. She was ready to shoot and end it all.

She was ready to leave them again.

A few tentative knocks on the door drew him from his thoughts.

"Dean? What are you doing in here?" Mary asked, sticking her head in the door. "I got some dinner. Come eat."

"Later."

"You always say that."

"I'm not hungry."

Mary sighed. "Dean, you're a grown man. You have to be starving with how little you've eaten lately. Just come eat a little bit, and you can get back to…" She paused, looking at him, at Sam, and around the room in general. "To _this_."

"Why do you care now?"

"Dean, you're my son. Of course, I care. I just needed some time to adjust, that's all."

"You care?" Dean asked. "Sam's your son, too, and you don't seem broken up about the fact that he's _dead_. Or the fact that it was _your gun_ that killed him. You want to get rid of him. Salt and burn my amulet and say your final goodbyes."

Dean looked over at her, glad that she had the decency to look ashamed and wasn't able to meet his eyes.

"I will never be able to forget that it's my fault that Sam's laying there," Mary said. "And he will always be my son, but I never knew him, Dean. He was six months old when I died, and he's a stranger now."

"That's because you never made an effort to get to know him," Dean yelled. He didn't know at which point he stood up, but he kicked over the chair he sat in earlier. "You never made an effort to get to know either of us. You ran away."

Dean looked at her, his anger draining and feeling all of four years old again. "You ran away," he said again, softer.

"I know," she said. "I'm sorry. You make it sound like I want Sam gone, but I don't. Really. I just don't want him to suffer either. He's throwing and breaking things, Dean. That's not a good sign."

"Give me some time, I can fix this. We've dealt with worse before, but I don't want to do this thinking that you're going to go behind my back and try to get rid of him when I'm not looking."

"I won't. Just please come eat, Dean," Mary said. "Please?"

Dean felt hands on his back push him forwards. He looked around and asked, "Sammy?"

Another push moved him closer to the door.

"Alright, alright. I'm goin'."

* * *

 _He saw the Impala first, in the middle of an open field beneath a star filled sky. Then, he saw Sam reclining on the hood._

" _Sam!" he yelled, running the rest of the way to the Impala. "Sammy!"_

 _Sam looked over his shoulder at Dean, grinned, and raised a beer bottle in a silent cheers to him._

 _Dean paused to catch his breath, then pulled Sam from the roof of the Impala and into a hug. "What the hell are you doing here, man? You're still…"_

" _Dead?" Sam finished for him. "Yeah, I am."_

" _Then, how are you here?"_

" _You're dreaming, Dean," Sam said._

" _You're haunting my dreams?"_

 _Sam shrugged. "It's the only way to get through to you. I've been trying for days now. Guess it finally worked this time."_

 _Dean worked cases where the victims mentioned strange dreams about a person they didn't know, but they were usually about reliving that stranger's death, and Dean never imagined that he'd be on the receiving end of a ghostly dream visit._

" _Dean, I know you don't want to, but I think you should listen to Mom this time," he said. "You need to let me go."_

" _Not happening, Sammy. I told you, I'm going to fix it. You just have to hold on for a little longer."_

" _You don't get it, Dean. I'm so angry. I'm angry all the time, worse than I was before the Apocalypse. It's getting hard to think straight enough to keep myself from lashing out. Just let me go, man. Don't make me lose myself."_

" _Sam, you can't ask me to do that," he said._

 _Sam laughed. "No," he said. "I knew it wouldn't be that easy, but I hoped."_

 _Sam became blurred, along with the Impala and the field. Dean blinked a few times, then rubbed his eyes, but nothing cleared._

" _Don't make me wake up yet, Sammy," Dean said. "Don't leave yet."_

" _I don't have the energy to stay any longer. I'm sorry, Dean."_

When Dean woke up, he stared at the ceiling of his room in complete darkness for a long time. With the amulet still around his neck, he knew Sam was trapped in the room with him. But for the first time, that fact wasn't comforting. Not when even Sam wanted him to give up looking for an answer.

He pressed his thumb and forefinger into his tear ducts until it hurt. He wouldn't cry, not even in front of ghost-Sam.

But it was hard not to when his entire family wanted him to let go of the single most important part of his life.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Thank you to those who read, review, follow, and favorite! It means the world to me.

Please leave a review before you go!


	5. Mother Mary

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Supernatural.

* * *

Dean watched her anytime they were in the same room. Not with a curiosity, but with a warning. A dare for her to try anything he didn't agree with.

She hated to admit it, but she was relieved to be by herself. She was glad when she didn't feel like a prisoner, always monitored to make sure she stayed in line.

But she couldn't leave him, not when Sam was dead and he was on a desperate mission to revive him. So, she sought moments of refuge in the bunker's kitchen, making simple meals as peace offerings to Dean.

 _Dean squirmed in his seat at the dining table, she could see him from her place in the kitchen._

" _Do you want me to cut the crusts off?" she asked._

 _Dean nodded with a smile._

 _She cut the crusts off with the practiced precision that came from years of hunting. Oddly, she felt more exhausted as a mother than she ever did as a hunter._

 _But when she thought of Sammy sleeping peacefully and saw Dean's grin as he dug into his crust-less sandwich, it was more than worth it._

She looked at the sandwich she made for Dean, who was too old now for sandwiches with the crusts carefully removed. It wasn't peanut butter and jelly, though she was sure that he wouldn't have objected to it. She was sure that whatever she brought him to eat, he wouldn't even taste it. He went through the motions because he had to, not because he wanted to.

She knocked on the door to the latest storage room Dean had been scouring. "Dean?"

A grunt of acknowledgment was the most she received, and she pushed the door open. "I brought you some lunch," she said. "You need to eat."

"Put it on the table in the corner," Dean said. He was surrounded by books and strange objects she'd never seen before. Each day, the stubble he refused to take the time to shave grew longer and more unruly. His bloodshot eyes had dark shadows beneath them. He tried to take care of the dead more than the living. "I'll eat later."

Mary shook her head. "Do you really expect me to believe that?"

"About as much as you expect me to believe that you still won't try to get rid of Sam."

"Dean, I promised you that I wouldn't."

"Yeah, well, I don't trust easily," Dean said.

After a long moment of internal debate, Mary set the plate down and left the room, weaving her way through the bunker until she stood in front of Sam's door.

And she continued past it to the room she claimed for the time being, where she paced its short length.

"This is ridiculous," she whispered to herself.

She paused and bit the nail of her thumb, but the restlessness in her forced her to continue her pacing within a minute. There was no way for her to get through to Dean, not after she witnessed his obsession to save his brother.

 _Mary stumbled out of bed, half-asleep, but unable to ignore the gut feeling that something was very, very wrong. Her long, white nightgown tangled around her legs a few times._

" _John?" she asked, glancing into Sam's nursery and at the shadow looming over his crib. "Is he hungry?"_

 _She walked towards the kitchen for a bottle, but the hall lights flickered, and any remaining sleep clinging to her vanished._

" _John?" she asked again, halfway down the stairs to find him lulled to sleep by static television._

 _Seeing nothing amiss with John did not relieve her in the slightest because if John was there, who was with Sam? She rushed back up the stairs and into Sam's nursery. "Sammy!" she yelled._

 _She froze at the doorway._

 _The man in the nursery looked over his shoulder at her, yellow eyes glowing in the darkness._

" _It's you," she breathed out._

 _Had ten years passed since that night? In her distraught state after the death of everyone she loved, had she bargained away her unborn son in exchange for John's life?_

 _The one thing she knew was that, deal or not, she would not let that demon take away her son, too. Not if she could help it._

 _She took a step closer with the defiance of a hunter, and the love of a mother._

Mary laughed, bitter. Thirty-three years ago, the thought of losing her baby devastated her. It was enough to drive her into throwing herself into the line of fire (which turned out to be more than just a saying that night).

Now, her baby was grown up and his death wasn't just a possibility. It was a reality. But she didn't feel anything about it, not like she should. A touch of sorrow, sure. A lot of guilt over being the cause of someone's death, of course.

But that man lying lifeless on his bed wasn't her Sammy. He was a stranger. One she never knew and one she would never get to know.

With a deep breath, she made the trip from her room to Sam's, opening the door, but not crossing fully into the room.

It was ridiculous. She knew that Sam wasn't hanging around his room. He wasn't in the prone body sprawled atop the bedding. He was with Dean, attached to the amulet that Dean now protected like his own life depended upon it.

From what she'd seen of the bond between her sons, Dean's life might have very well depended on Sam's survival. Even her grief when John died shortly after her parents on November 2, 1973 couldn't rival that of Dean's since Sam was shot (by her) on the bridge.

With a deep breath, she pulled out her cell phone and dialed Cas' number, none too surprised that it went to voicemail.

"Cas," she said, "I don't know what you've been up to, but Dean needs you. At least call him back. He's been trying to reach you ever since you disappeared from here."

* * *

Dean threw the last object of the storage room against the wall. He'd tried every incantation he had the slightest hope would work. He'd decorated Sam's body with amulets and talismans. Drawn on his brother's slowly rotting flesh every symbol that had a chance at helping their situation.

But still, nothing.

He felt tears stinging the back of his eyes. He wasn't keeping track of how many days passed. A week, at least, he thought. Maybe two. But it felt so much longer.

Sam kept haunting his dreams. Kept telling him to let him go, which was the last thing Dean planned to do. He told Sam that if he left, he would be following.

" _What about Mom?" Sam asked._

 _They were in just another motel room, identical in every way that mattered to the multitude they'd stayed at over the years. Probably conjured by Sam's memories of all the rooms blending together._

" _What about her?" Dean asked. "She left us before. I'm sure she'd do it again, and I know how to live without her, Sam. I never figured out how to live without you, though."_

 _Sam shook his head and laughed. He didn't sound happy, but he didn't sound upset either. Purely amused. "How odd is it," he said, "that it takes something like this to make us realize the important things."_

" _I don't know, Sammy, but you gotta stop doing this to me. Gonna make my hair go grey early."_

"God, Sam. I'm so sorry that it's taking so long for me to fix this. I'm trying. I really am," Dean said.

He suspected that, positions reversed, Sam would have figured it all out by now. Research and planning. Those were Sam's specialties. Not his.

One of the books on the floor fluttered open to a random page. Dean picked it up and read over it.

It wasn't a miracle or a solution given to him by Sam's ghostly presence. It was a page about a binding ritual, one Dean came across and quickly dismissed as he tore apart the room in his search.

But now it was a message.

"Yeah, we're bound, aren't we, Sammy?" Dean asked. "Remember what Zachariah said back when the angels' primary goal was fucking with us? About how codependent we are?"

Dean closed the book and set it aside. "I was upset with you back then and didn't really think about it at the time, but he wasn't wrong."

He felt as crazy as his mom seemed to think he was, in an empty room and having a moment with his dead brother, who was now a spirit attached to the amulet he once wore religiously (and had started to wear religiously once again).

His cell phone went off, interrupting the one-sided moment.

"Our lives are weird," he mumbled.

He pulled out his phone, but nearly dropped it when he read Cas' name on the caller ID.

"You better have a damn good reason for your disappearing act," Dean said.

"I do," Cas said. "I think I have a solution."

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Finally a possible solution showing itself. This was actually only supposed to be about 3 short chapters, but I've gotten a bit carried away.

Please review before you go!


	6. I'm Here

**Disclaimer:** I don't know Supernatural.

* * *

"I'm ready to try anything, Cas," Dean said.

"I have to take care of this part," Cas said. "If I can find enough angels who still feel indebted to us for taking care of Metatron and reopening Heaven, then their combined power should be enough to reunite Sam's soul with his body."

"How many do you need?"

"I'm not certain. The connection between Heaven and angels still isn't as strong as it used to be, so I'll need to find several to help. It's the only way we'll have enough power to perform a resurrection."

"Okay," Dean said. He ran his hand down his face, exhaustion starting to catch up to him. "What do you need me to do?"

"You need to keep Sam calm. If he's too far on his way to being a vengeful spirit, his body will reject him. Do what you can to preserve his body as well. I believe there should be some spellwork for preservation in the Men of Letters' library," Cas said. "It will be much easier on the angels if they don't need to use the added energy to rejuvenate his body from the decay."

Dean took a deep breath, trying not to let his hopes take over at the possibility of having a way to save Sam. But how could he not get his hopes us? Weeks of fighting a losing battle to bring Sam back, and Cas came through with a solution.

"I think I owe you an apology," Dean said, "and a thanks."

"You two have saved me countless times. It's my turn to repay the favor," Cas said.

The line went dead, and Dean stuffed his phone back into his pocket with a laugh (which he would never admit sounded a little choked to his own ears). "Cas still sucks at goodbyes, huh, Sammy?"

He moved to the library and started searching for any useful spellwork, beyond glad to finally have a task he felt he could accomplish.

"I wish you could help me out with this one, Sammy," he said, flipping through book pages slowly and carefully. "You know how much I hate the research part. Why do you think I always tried to shove the job off onto you? Big brother privileges and all that."

Sam didn't answer, but this time the silence didn't feel quite so suffocating.

* * *

Mary held her head in her hands. She made it as far as pulling up a chair beside Sam's bed and sitting, but she didn't know what she was supposed to do next.

There was no point in talking to Sam, she knew exactly where he was, and it wasn't in that room.

She sang 'Hey Jude' softly until her throat was raw, but there were no ears present to hear her lullaby. So, she left the bunker and came back with bags of scented candles that she set up and lit all over Sam's over to cover the stench of death filling it.

But the artificial smell of pine trees barely masked the truth of that room.

Her son was dead, and her other son was dead on the inside because of it, slowly killing his physical self in his search for a way to save his brother.

She started to understand their feelings. Being alone in the world with only one person to rely on. It was why she brought John back by making a deal with a devil, the very thing that her father warned her against so many times over the years.

But her dad was gone by then, animated by possession. Her mom was gone. John was gone. No one could stop her, and ten years with someone was better than spending a lifetime alone.

She made her way into the kitchen, a little better stocked than it had been when she showed up. Maybe she didn't have the culinary repertoire of other, more traditional mothers, but she could make simple recipes.

She wondered if she would have learned to be a normal mother had she lived.

She made eggs and bacon, having witnessed that Dean devoured them with the same fervor she did back when they had breakfast after Asa's wake. Strange how things then could be simpler than they currently were.

With a nervousness that no mother should feel when facing her own children, she took a plate and found Dean in the library, pouring over books she was certain he already read within the first week since Sam's death.

"Dean," she said, not drawing more than a glance from him, "I brought you some food. I know it's not exactly breakfast time, but our schedules aren't exactly normal either."

Dean nodded his thanks, and she set the plate next to him on the table.

He didn't say anything, and she was about to go her own way. But she couldn't find the strength to leave him there, feeling as alone as she had on November 2, 1973.

She slipped into the chair across from him and stared at the edge of the table. "Dean," she said, "I'm sorry."

He finally turned his attention from the book to her. "Sorry for what, Mom?"

She laughed and shook her head. "I'm sorry for more than I can even say, but I get it."

"Get what?"

"I get what it's like. To feel like there's only one person you can rely on, and then to have that person taken away. I'm just sorry that you had to feel it even though I was right here the entire time."

Dean shrugged. "Don't worry about it. I'm used to it just being me and Sam. Always has been."

"I'm right here, Dean," Mary said. "I'm right _here_. I'm supposed to be your mother, but I'm in the same place as you and it's like _I'm_ the ghost. It shouldn't be that way."

"That's enough, Mom," Dean said. He rubbed his eyes, sounding more tired than anything else. "We get it, too. Both of us, after Sam talked some sense into me. We know what it's like to be overwhelmed and need some space, okay? You never asked to be brought back, and thirty-three years is a lot to miss."

"I'm going to be a better mother," she said.

Dean looked at her the way hunters did when they sized up their prey, and it hurt. There was a certain level of wariness in his eyes. A certain level of distrust.

"Please, tell me what I can do to help," she said. "I want to be there for both of you. I want to prove that I'm not running away again."

Dean pushed a book across the table to her. "Well," he said, "start with finding anything you can that might be useful in preserving a body."

"I thought you were looking for something that would reconnect his soul with his body."

"I was," Dean said, "but Cas called and said that he has a plan to take care of that. We just have to make sure Sam doesn't go vengeful, and that his body stays mostly intact until Cas puts everything together."

Mary nodded. "I'm on it."

Dean smiled across the table at her, and she smiled back.

* * *

Sam watched them, as far off to the side of the room as the link with the amulet allowed him to get. His family together and smiling was something he longed for his entire life, but he always thought that he'd be in the picture, too.

Instead, he stood off to the side, unseen. It would be a lie to say that it didn't hurt. When he was around, living and breathing, smiles and quiet moments were rare. Had become more and more rare over the years. They never said things that needed to be said, it was always just a pat on the shoulder or a nod to communicate everything important. To communicate everything that couldn't be said with one small gesture.

Dean and Mary dedicated themselves to the material in the books, but sometimes they would share a short conversation and laugh a bit, genuinely happy.

Without him there.

Being attached to Dean was turning out to be more of a nightmare than he ever thought. They were always close—they had to be with the way they grew up—but he never felt that proximity was the only thing close about them and that he was nothing more than a spectator.

He turned and stared into the hallway. There was nothing to see beyond the library, but anything was better than watching his family bond without him.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** I actually thought of this chapter's content when I heard 'Hey Jude' play in the grocery store (Disclaimer: 'Hey Jude' is written by the Beatles, I don't own it).

Thank you for the reads, reviews, follows, and favorites!

Leave a review before you go?


	7. The Living

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Supernatural.

* * *

Sam watched Dean carefully draw symbols onto the skin of his limp body with a thin paintbrush and a mixture of herbs and blood as the paint. Dean had cut away his shirt in order to draw on his chest, and if Sam was being honest with himself, he looked terrible. Absolutely terrible.

Then again, how many corpses had he come across that weren't hideous. (Angela in Greenville, Illinois didn't count. She was only dead for, what, a day before the obsessed kid used ancient Greek necromancy to bring her back? Sam was looking at the product of weeks of decay, and it wasn't pretty.)

Some of the symbols Dean drew, Sam recognized from his own perusing of the Men of Letters' library. Others, he didn't have the slightest clue where they came from.

"Called Rowena for some help with the spellwork," he said, like he could read Sam's mind even when he was a ghost. "She's still not too happy about always being dragged into the supernatural. She just wants to be left alone."

Dean chuckled a bit at his own words as he finished the last symbol.

Mary helped him clean up, and they fell into a sort of sync they developed over their time working together. The time spent trying to save Sam while making him feel more invisible than ever.

He stopped haunting Dean's dreams. While he still wanted Dean to burn the amulet and let him go, there was even less of a point now that Dean had a hope to grip. A real hope.

Flares of anger felt more frequent, though he tried to keep himself from throwing or breaking anything, but sometimes he couldn't stop himself.

This was one of those times. He picked up one of the scented candles Mary set up all over his room and sent it crashing to the ground. It wasn't lit, but he wished it was. Wished it would burn his bones and make Dean set him free.

Dean looked almost afraid when he fell to his knees to pick up the pieces of glass on the floor. "You can't do this to me now, Sammy," he said. "You just have to hold on a little longer, okay? Cas will be here and he'll bring some people who will have you all sorted out in no time. I promise."

"I don't want this to be fixed," Sam said, no one hearing him. "You have Mom, you'll be fine. If you bring me back… You know I'll just ruin whatever chance you have to bond with her. The chance that I know you've wanted since you were four years old."

"Dean, how much longer until Cas will get here?" Mary asked.

"I don't know," Dean said. "He hasn't called again. I'm just hoping it'll be soon. I can't lose Sam, Mom."

"You won't, Dean," she said. "Everything will turn out just fine."

* * *

It was another week before Cas showed up at the bunker door with his own miniature army of angels trailing behind. A week of Dean obsessively checking and rechecking the symbols drawn on Sam. A week of Dean talking in empty rooms to try and keep Sam calm and not vengeful. A week of broken things from Sam's fits of anger. A week of making sure that anything dangerous was kept far out of Sam's reach.

Sometimes, Dean felt like he was dealing with Sam as a toddler again, hiding all of Daddy's weapons so that Sam wouldn't hurt himself due to his insatiable curiosity. Back when things were easier, even if they never felt that way at the time.

Cas called him the day before to say that they were on the way, so when he heard the resounding echo of knocks on the bunker's heavy metal door, he bounded through the halls and up the stairs two at a time.

"Man, am I glad to see you, Cas," he said, stepping aside to let the angels in.

Cas led the way, five other angels trailing behind. They were what he learned to expect from angels. Clean. Stood up straight. Wore nice suits like CEOs, which were probably more expensive than every piece of clothing Dean's owned in his entire life put together. But hey, they were there to save his brother, so who was he to complain, really.

"I am sorry that it took so long, Dean. Ever since we lost our wings, traveling has become very tedious and time consuming," Cas said. "These angels are some of the few who are grateful that we helped imprison Metatron and reopened Heaven, rather than those who still hold grudges towards me for falling into Metatron's trap."

"Metatron was a madman," one of the other angels said. "I didn't realize that until it was far too late. He never wanted to make Heaven back into the wondrous place it once was, he just wanted the power of controlling Heaven."

"That's Ingrid," Cas said. "She was a high ranking follower of Metatron."

"Yes," Ingrid said. "And I'm doing all I can to make up for what I helped do by following him."

"Well, I appreciate it," Dean said. "That goes to all of you. I really appreciate the help."

Only one or two nodded to acknowledge his words at all, but they could be cursing him out and shoving him against walls for all he cared. As long as they saved Sam, he didn't care what they did to him.

Mary stood off in the corner of Sam's room, giving the angels plenty of space, but still being present.

Dean joined her, and judging by the way the angels look at them, but off to the side, he assumed that Sam was nearby as well.

"The body isn't in perfect condition," one of the angels said.

Cas shook his head. "No, it isn't. But it should be in good enough shape to house a soul. The body can heal itself the rest of the way after."

Dean was okay with that. He'd spent the past weeks secluding himself in the bunker looking for answers. He could spend a few more weeks holed up while Sam heals, especially since Sam healing meant that Sam was alive.

"The soul is present, though," Cas continued. "That should make our job that much easier."

"That soul is on its way to vengeful."

Dean's heart stopped for a moment. He knew that Sam was in bad shape as a ghost, but just how close to vengeful was he? This was supposed to be the day that he regained his brother, not the day he lost him permanently.

"Not far enough to prevent a resurrection," Ingrid said. She looked over to Dean and Mary. "Just be certain to keep him calm when he wakes. The residual effects from a vengeful path combined with negative emotions in a weakened body could be his undoing, and then there would be no amount of help that could save him without sending him on to Heaven."

Dean nodded, heart now beating too fast and, Jesus, Sam was going to be the reason he had a heart attack (poor eating habits aside).

"I can do that," he said, but he wasn't entirely sure. Sam had been pretty unhappy and spent his time dead practically begging Dean to just let him die permanently. He just needed to figure out how to make Sam realize it was better when they were both alive. He needed to show Sam that the world needed him alive. That Dean needed him alive.

Dean didn't know what he expected, but the resurrection was a lot less flashy than he thought it should be. The angels circled Sam's bed and held hands to share their power. At some point, a soft light enveloped Sam. He started breathing, and the bullet wound closed.

But then it was over like nothing happened at all.

The other angels left, but Cas stayed behind and claimed a room in the bunker to recharge. All of the angels looked like they could use a break, the resurrection seemed to take all the energy they had to give.

Dean pulled up a chair to sit at Sam's bedside while Mary lit the candles in the room again. Without ghost Sam hanging around, they didn't need to worry about him setting the bunker on fire. The scent of death wasn't as strong thanks to the other times they'd had the candles lit, but it still lingered.

Dean wondered if it'd ever be fully gone.

"C'mon, Sammy, open your eyes," he said. "I think you've gotten enough rest, don't you?"

Sam was breathing and had a heartbeat, which Dean was grateful for. He just wished that Sam would wake up so he could see what Sam needed. He refused to let Ingrid's scenario play out.

With a groan and a few seconds of shifting, Sam's eyes finally opened. They wandered the room before turning to Dean.

"Hey, how ya feeling?"

"I asked you to let me go, Dean," Sam said, his voice barely a whisper. "Why didn't you?"

"You know I can't do that, Sammy. I need you here."

When Sam turned his head away, Dean felt his heart sink.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Sam is alive, but he's not too happy about it. There's only one chapter left to go, so I would love if you took a moment to leave a review before you leave!


	8. Brothers Again

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Supernatural.

* * *

"Sam, look at me," Dean said.

He had his arm stretched to cover half the distance to Sam's head, but he hesitated. Forcing Sam to look at him didn't seem like the best plan at that moment, especially when he had no idea why Sam insisted he should have stayed dead, despite being very much alive.

Everything had gone smoothly for once, hadn't it?

Ingrid's warning rang in his ears, set on repeat by his brain. Keep Sam calm. Keep Sam happy.

Keep Sam _alive._

"It's okay this time. No deals. Nothing," Dean said. "Just some angels finally repaying a favor to us."

Sam stayed silent, and Dean didn't mind his mother leaving the room to give them some space. She had just as much right to be there and to help Sam, but some things he had to do by himself. Some things were between him and Sam, the way they'd been for decades.

"Seriously, Sammy. Everything's fine."

While Sam faced away from him, Dean could see the frown on his face and the minuscule shrug of his shoulder.

"If you're tired, I can just let you sleep for now."

Sam nodded. Barely, but more than enough for Dean to see.

Dean left the room, his hands balled into such tight fists, he felt his nails bite into the flesh of his hand. But he went without argument, because Sam needed to be kept calm and happy so his soul would remain properly attached to his body.

Once he was out of danger, Dean thought as he closed the door to Sam's room behind him, then Dean would throttle him for being a moron and scaring him so much over the past weeks. For still scaring him with his current attitude and apparent unwillingness to be alive, despite the fact that there were no deals made. No one was dying in his place. Not now. Not a year from now.

Dean wandered into the kitchen to grab himself a beer, only to find his mother hovering over a steaming pot on the stove, her short hair still somehow long enough to tie back. He swallowed back the sudden rush of resentment towards Mary that crawled up his throat.

This was her fault. Sam's condition was because of her. If she hadn't been so hasty to end her life in their place, if she hadn't been so willing to leave them again, then Sam would be okay. He wouldn't be shutting Dean out. He wouldn't have spent the past weeks haunting Dean and begging him to let him die and stay dead.

Mary looked over her shoulder and gave Dean a small smile. "I thought that Sam might want some tomato and rice soup. It always made me feel better when my mom made it for me," she said. "It used to make you feel better when you were little, too."

Dean grabbed the beer he originally came for from the fridge, popped it open, and sat down at the table before he bothered to respond. "Why do you keep doing this to us?"

He stopped himself from saying either 'Mom' or 'Mary' at the end of his question. He wasn't sure which one she was to them, not since the first time she left in search of some space.

"Doing what?"

"You keep coming into our lives and playing the part of a mother," Dean said, "but then you're gone again, leaving us behind."

"Dean, I just needed some space. I never meant to hurt you or Sam."

Dean snorted a bitter laugh and shook his head. "Well, great job so far there."

They worked fine as a team to preserve Sam's body, but now Sam's soul was back in it and he wasn't as okay as he should be. He'd been on his way to vengeful (probably too close for Dean's comfort), and now he might still not make it through their mother's mistake.

She left them once. She almost left them when Billie made an offer after Asa's wake (he could see that she truly thought about it, he knew the look). She tried to leave them again on the bridge when Billie wanted a Winchester.

While Dean wanted to believe in her promise that she wanted to try to be a better mother to them, the number of times she left kept him hesitant. Now that Sam was more-or-less alive, what would stop her from falling back into the same pattern?

"What do you want me to say, Dean? That I'm sorry I left? Because I'm not," she said. "I blinked and thirty-three years passed by without me. I needed the time on my own to sort my thoughts and adjust to that."

Dean knew that she wasn't sorry for leaving them, but hearing her say it out loud felt different. She was confirming that she didn't regret leaving behind her own children. It felt like an abandonment and a betrayal.

Didn't she have any idea what their lives had been like because of her? Did she have any idea what they went through in order to kill the demon who burned her on the ceiling?

" _I_ don't want you to say anything," Dean said. "I can handle you leaving. I have before. I won't say that it didn't hurt, but I've been through a lot of shit in my life. The point is that _Sam_ doesn't need that right now. You heard Ingrid's warning."

"I get it, Dean. I told you that I was going to be better to you boys now. Be the mother that I should've been all along. I'm not going back on that."

"Okay," Dean said.

Mary tried a few times to start some lighthearted conversations, the kind they shared while helping out Sam as a team, but Dean didn't have it in him.

He couldn't stop thinking about Sam asking why Dean didn't follow Sam's request to let him go, or the night on the bridge that started it all.

* * *

Dean checked on Sam every hour, then every half hour, but Sam always pretended to be asleep. He kept the routine up for about half a day before he took up residence in the chair beside Sam's bed.

"We both know that you aren't asleep, Sammy."

Sam cracked open his eyes and looked at Dean.

"Was that so hard?"

Sam's lips turned up at the corners into a small smile, and Dean mentally marked a tally into his 'victory' category.

"Maybe," Sam said.

"How are you feeling?"

Sam closed his eyes, the way he did since they were kids and he was mentally accessing himself for injuries to tell Dean about. "Stiff," he said, his voice sounding as weak as he looked. "Like my body doesn't want to listen."

"You wanna maybe tell me what's going on in your head, then?" Dean asked.

"Nothing."

Dean found himself staring at a fifteen year old Sam, who had his head buried in a motel pillow after a rough day at school or a hunt gone wrong. Back when he started to feel too old to be running to Dean with his problems.

"I've known you long enough to tell when you're bullshitting me, Sam."

Sam's eyes flicked down, and Dean realized that he was staring at the amulet he still had hanging from his neck. It felt so natural to be wearing it again, he forgot it was there at all.

"You don't need to wear that anymore," Sam said.

"What?"

Sam looked away again, opting to stare at the ceiling. "I'm not attached to it anymore, so you don't need to wear it."

"I'm wearing it because I want to," Dean said.

"Why?"

"Because it's important to me," Dean said.

"Not anymore," Sam said. "It hasn't been in a long time."

He knew that talking about the amulet would come up eventually, but he didn't believe that it was that old sore spot that was fueling Sam's mood. It left him wondering what else they ignored over the years had built up to the breaking point in Sam. All of the moments when he knew they needed to talk about something, but he brushed them aside because he didn't want to deal with them (because he would rather bury himself in alcohol and women than deal with the issues between him and Sam) came to the front of his mind.

Starting with the moment he dropped the amulet in the trashcan in plain view of Sam.

"It's always been important to me," Dean said. "When I… I was angry, okay? But I never stopped regretting what I did. I know now that it was the angels dicking with us to play their game. But even then, I should have trusted you. I should have believed in you. There's a lot I should have done, and I'm sorry that I didn't."

Sam didn't look convinced, but he didn't look like he was condemning Dean for his past sins either.

He just looked defeated.

"You don't need me," Sam said. "You have Mom."

"You have Mom, too. And what the hell do you mean I don't need you? Don't you realize how much it destroyed me to have you die _in my arms_ at Cold Oak? Or when you willingly fell into Lucifer's Cage to save the world? The time that I stopped you from closing the Gates of Hell in that shitty little church? How about the more recent ones, like when that werewolf shot you and Corbin choked you, or when I came back to the bunker and found your blood on the floor, but not you? Every single time, I was willing to trade myself for your life because I never figured out how to live without you. I'm still willing to trade my life for yours."

Sam didn't respond. Dean had just poured his heart out, but he had to continue with something, anything, to get through to Sam. "If you don't believe me now," Dean said, "stick around and let me prove it to you. We'll repair all the little tears in our relationship from over the years. Talk about all the things we should have years ago, but swept under the rug instead. Go back to really being brothers, not keeping secrets and fighting each other."

"You can have a relationship with Mom," Sam said, finally. "You've always wanted that. I'd ruin it. I'd get her killed again."

"Sammy, her death was never your fault. She made a deal, and Yellow Eyes would have gotten to you no matter what. Besides, she wants to prove to both of us that she won't leave again, that she'll be the mother we needed. But she can't do that if you're gone."

"Dean…"

"No, Sam, listen to me. Whatever you having going through that head of yours, whatever is making you think that your life is worthless, we'll work through it. We'll work through everything, but you have to give us the chance first. Please."

Dean wasn't a man who typically begged, but damn if he wouldn't beg to keep Sam around.

The silence that fell stayed between them for too long. Dean didn't have anything else to say, but if Sam didn't say something soon, he was going to lose what little was left of his mind.

"Okay," Sam said.

* * *

Sam moved like an old man, but he could move. Dean hovered over him, but after knowing Dean for thirty-three years, he expected as much.

The easy banter he remembered between Dean and Mary didn't seem quite as easy anymore, and it left Sam wondering what he missed. As he recovered, though, it returned a little more each day, the secret rift between them closing.

Only this time, it included him, too. He wasn't invisible to them anymore, he was a part of their little family. Mary slipped sometimes and treated them like they were far younger than they were, but Sam didn't mind it all that much. He suspected that Dean didn't either.

They had their real mother back.

They still had a lot of work left to repair the years upon years of tears in the relationship between them, but Sam believed Dean when he said they would get through it. They would go back to being real brothers again. No secrets. No demons. No angels or Apocalypses. Heaven and Hell could both go shove it for now. They were taking a break.

Every time he saw the amulet hanging from Dean's neck, he really believed they would get through it all.

They would be brothers.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** And there you have it! Thank you to everyone who's supported this story, you have no idea how much it's meant to me. Since this is the final chapter, why not leave a review with your final thoughts?

Until next time!


End file.
